Tall Coffee, Black

Today is the day I do it.

I will say something to Tall Coffee, Black.
   
I will tell him something. That he's cute. That I like his choice. That he smells like home.
   
Something to start a dialogue. To show him I exist. To make myself an option for him.
   
It will happen today.
   
Okay, he's walking up. Do this, do this, do this, he's only one man, one guy is all he is, one guy with divine brown hair expertly parted to one side and held by just a touch of gel, one male with a voice smoother than vanilla ice cream on your throat in summer, one man with the smile I see every restless night when I can't sleep, he's only that man, the one.
   
“Morning. Tall coffee, black, please.”
   
“Yes sir, coming right up.”
   
I get his coffee, look at his face while he looks somewhere else, hand him the cup, and, again, for the 56th day in a row, I am silent, saying nothing of note.
   
“Thanks, have a nice day.”
   
I couldn't even muster up a You, too.
   
Shit.

*

I was wrong.
   
Today is the day I do it.
   
Yesterday was a false start, like in football.
   
I'm going to look Tall Coffee, Black right in the eyes, those hazel confections tucked close to his perfectly pointed nose, I'm going to look at him and say You're a loyal customer.
   
What? NO. I'm not going to say that. What the hell am I thinking? I am going to stare him down, make him shiver, and I'm going to say Nice shoulder bag.
   
Okay, let's get it together here. No way that line is going to work. Screw it, no more thinking, I'm going to wing it, I'm going to let it fly, make it up, I took an improv class in college, and so what if I only got a D, I can do this, look him in that sexy kisser and say something right.
   
“Hey there, tall coffee, black, please.”
   
“Back again?”
   
No wonder I got a D in that class.
   
“Um, yeah, I'm back, again, for my morning coffee.”
   
Even being sarcastic, he sounds like McCartney muttering sweet nothings in my ear.
   
“Sure thing, be right back.”
   
I did it! I said something! Something completely stupid and I looked like a moron, but I said something. I can't wait until my break so I can go to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and do a happy dance while I silently scream with joy!
   
Today is the day after all.
   
“Here's your coffee, sir. Hope you enjoy it.”
   
Where did that come from? I said more! I'm a freakin' powerhouse of conversation, my flower has finally bloomed, smell my words Tall Coffee, Black!
   
“Thanks, have a good one.”
   
“You, too. Have a good one, heck, have a great one. Have a great day!”
   
He looked at me. He smiled.
   
He smiled.
   
At me.

*

Yesterday was the day.
   
The first day. The day I'll look back on as The Beginning.
   
I slept well last night, the first good night of sleep in months. His smile was tucked under my pillow, like a gun protecting me from nightmares and bad thoughts. With that smile, I won't need Lunesta or my Dream Catcher anymore. No more visits to the doctor, bleary eyed with coffee cup in hand, I found sleep in his smile, the one he gave me.
   
Today is the day I ask him his name.
   
And hopefully he asks for mine.
   
If he asks for mine then I know he likes me. If he asks my name today, tomorrow I ask him out on a date, maybe meet for coffee, not here, somewhere else, a little all-night diner downtown, and it would go so well that by the time one of us looked at the clock it would be midnight, we'd have spent the whole day talking. He'd tell me his childhood dog's name: Feline, he mastered irony at an early age. I'd tell him my favorite cartoon: Superfriends, and I rooted for the Legion of Doom. We'd laugh and smirk and when he walked me home he wouldn't ask to come inside, he'd just touch my shoulder and say Goodnight, and I'd be overtaken with emotion, and I'd lunge, yes, lunge at him, and we'd kiss.
   
I have a good feeling about today.
   
There he is, he just walked in, he's in line now. He looks good.
   
Oh, crap. He just looked at me, and I didn't look away, and he smiled again, at me.
   
I'm right! He likes me. It's going to be a good day.
   
Here he is, looking handsome, a small crinkle in his cheeks that wasn't there the other days, I know it's for me, it's all for me, he's all for me.
   
“Good morning, can I have a tall coffee, black and also an iced coffee with milk.”
   
“Hot and cold today, eh? Trying something different. I dig it.”
   
I can't be stopped. Today is destiny.
   
“Well, actually, my girlfriend just got back from Europe after being gone for three months. The iced coffee is for her. We agree on a lot of things, but not coffee.” He chuckles, expecting me to join in on his joke. “Anyhow, she was at Oxford...”
   
Three months. I had all this time, every morning, any morning, to make a move. Any move. He has a girlfriend, but she was gone. So gone she didn’t even exist. The iced coffee could be for me. Not for her.
   
It could still be for me. I mean, how strong can their relationship be? Who leaves Tall, Coffee Black all alone for three months? 
   
I would never do that. Not to him. Never.
   
Today could still be our day.
   
“So, what's your name?” 

*This story was a strange one to write and to get published. As far as writing it, this story just poured out of me in about forty-five minutes flat. I don't know where it came from. The voice was in my head until the last line and then was gone forever. Those of you who write may understand what I mean. Getting it published was tricky. I sent it to Foliate Oak who kept sending me back emails: “Please resend your piece in .doc format.” I always use .doc, so this made no sense. It turned out there submission manager was junk, so they switched to Submittable and accepted my piece soon after. More than anyone else I have sent work to, they worked hard to read my story when they didn't have to. They're a good publication.

“Tall Coffee, Black” was first seen at Foliate Oak.